The fifth month of training had brought changes Kael hadn't anticipated. Not just in his body, which now moved with an instinctive confidence it lacked before, but in how he viewed the world. He no longer analyzed every movement, every word, and every gesture with the calculating coldness that had been his only defense for years. Now, he simply acted.
And it was liberating.
"Faster, dwarf," Davos shouted from the other side of the combat circle.
"My grandmother fights faster than you."
"Your grandmother is dead," Kael replied, blocking the next attack with a solid First Guard.
"Exactly. And she'd still beat you."
The laughter of the other initiates echoed in the yard, bouncing off the stone walls. Kael smiled, genuinely amused, and counter-attacked with a move he had practiced hundreds of times under Favius's critical gaze. Davos blocked it, but the force of the impact made him stumble back two steps.
"Ha! The dwarf has fangs today!"
"I've always had fangs," Kael said, pressing his advantage and looking for an opening in the older boy's defense.
"Now I just know how to use them."
It was true. Something had shifted in the last few weeks. The constant self-monitoring, the crushing weight of analyzing every situation before acting for fear of being punished or ignored, had loosened. Not vanished, of course, that would be reckless, but it was no longer his first response to everything.
Now he could just be.
Torin's whistle marked the end of the bout with a sharp sound. Kael had lasted two and a half minutes. A new personal record.
"Better," Torin growled, approaching with his usual impassive, granite-carved expression.
"You still fight like a nine-year-old, but at least now you fight like a nine-year-old with a brain."
"Your eloquence inspires me, Master Torin."
Several initiates let out muffled chuckles. Torin narrowed his eyes, but there was something akin to amusement glinting in the back of his dark pupils.
"Careful, dwarf. Big mouths run extra laps."
"I prefer the term strategically verbal."
"Five laps. Now."
"Yes, Master."
But Kael was smiling as he started to run. And that, he realized with a jolt of surprise, was the fundamental difference. Four months ago, the extra laps would have been a punishment, a physical and mental torture. Now they were just part of the day. A small price for existing.
"When did the noble arrive?" Mika asked later, during the water break, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his forearm.
"What noble?" Kael replied, drinking avidly from his canteen.
"The son of a cousin of your father's. He arrived this morning."
Mika nodded towards the entrance of the courtyard, where a group of guards was unloading luxurious luggage from a cart.
"I heard he's staying for a couple of weeks."
Favius grunted, wiping the sweat from his brow and looking at the scene with disdain.
"Great. More political family lurking around."
"Do you know him?" Kael asked.
"We all know them," Davos said, dropping into the shadow of the wall.
"Family is like a plague. There are always more cousins than you thought."
"This one is twelve," Mika added, always informed.
"And rumor has it he's been training formally with private tutors for four years."
Kael felt something stir in his chest. It wasn't fear, exactly. It was more like anticipation.
"Do you think he'll train with us?"
"Probably," Favius said.
"Nobles always want to prove something when they visit the main branch."
"Excellent," Kael murmured, and he was surprised to realize he meant it.
Four months ago, the idea of fighting someone bigger, stronger, and better trained would have filled him with paralyzing anxiety. Now he only felt curiosity.
'How good is he? Can I learn something from him? Can I win?'
That last question surprised him. It wasn't 'can I survive?' or 'can I last long enough?'. It was 'can I win?'.
'When did I start thinking like that?'
"FORMATION!" Torin roared, his voice cutting through the air.
"We have a visitor."
The initiates immediately lined up. Kael took his usual place near the end, but he no longer felt out of place. He was part of the group now, acknowledged if not fully respected.
The figure who entered the courtyard was exactly what Kael expected: a twelve-year-old boy with the bearing of someone who has been trained since he learned to walk, broad shoulders for his age, perfectly combed black hair, and training clothes that screamed "true noble." Beside him walked an older man, probably his personal instructor, and behind them... Elyn.
Of course.
"Master Torin," Elyn said with her polite, cold voice, the one she used to deliver orders disguised as suggestions.
"This is my nephew, Lord Cedric Drayvar, the son of my second cousin. He will be with us for the next few weeks, and I thought it would be... educational for him to participate in the training sessions."
Torin observed the boy with a neutral expression.
"Has he trained before?"
"Four years," replied Cedric's instructor, a thin man with scars on his hands.
"He is competent with the sword and has Apprentice-level Aether, second layer."
A murmur ran through the line of initiates. Second layer at twelve was good. Very good. Rylan was at fifth at fourteen, but Rylan was an anomaly.
"Welcome," Torin finally said.
"There are no titles here. Only effort. Understood?"
"Understood," Cedric replied, and his voice was firm, confident. Not arrogant, exactly, but definitely self-assured.
Kael studied him with interest. This was not like the other initiates. This one had been raised to be a warrior from the start, not as a second option or a hobby.
Elyn looked directly at Kael for the first time in weeks. Her eyes were ice shards.
"Kael, I want you to be Cedric's sparring partner today."
Absolute silence.
All the initiates turned to look at Kael. Even Torin raised an eyebrow, surprised by the direct intervention.
"Madam?" Torin asked carefully.
"They are of a similar age," Elyn said, and something in her tone suggested this was not a suggestion but an absolute command.
"It will be... instructive for both."
Kael understood immediately.
'She wants to humiliate me. Or at least, put me in my place. Show Cedric how far the concubine's sons are from the true nobles.'
It should have annoyed him. Four months ago, it would have terrified him. But now...
"Yes, Stepmother," Kael said, walking toward the center of the combat circle with a calm stride.
He felt the gazes of Favius and Davos on his back. Concern in Favius's eyes. Something like bloodlust in Davos's.
Cedric took his opposing position, the practice sword resting comfortably in his hand. He held it well, Kael noted. Firm grip, natural stance. This one knew what he was doing.
"First touch wins," Torin announced, taking control of the circle.
"No strikes to the head or vital parts. This is practice, not execution. Understood?"
"Understood," they both said in unison.
Elyn remained at the edge of the circle, watching with an impassive expression. His instructor was next to her, arms crossed and an air of superiority.
Kael slid into First Guard. Feet apart. Weight forward. Sword angled. Cedric did the same, but his posture was better. More refined. Muscles from years of proper training instead of months of learning on the fly and through hard knocks.
The whistle blew.
Cedric attacked first.
He was fast. Faster than Kael expected. A diagonal slash that Kael barely blocked, the impact resonating painfully in his arms and shoulders. Cedric immediately pressed the attack, giving him no time to recover. Another attack. Another. One more.
Kael retreated, blocking, parrying, looking for an opening that didn't come.
'He's good. Very good. But...'
There was something in his pattern. A preference for the right side. A slight tell, a subtle shoulder movement before each strong attack. Small things. But Kael saw them.
On the next attack, instead of blocking directly as expected, Kael shifted to the side, letting the inertia of Cedric's sword pass by him. He counter-attacked quickly, landing a light but clear strike on Cedric's shoulder.
First touch.
For Kael.
The courtyard fell silent.
Cedric blinked, surprised. Then he frowned, his noble composure cracking.
"That was luck."
"Probably," Kael admitted, backing up to his starting position.
But there was a small, almost invisible smile on his face.
Torin looked at Elyn, who nodded briefly, tense.
"Continue. Best of three."
This time, Cedric didn't attack immediately. He circled, assessing, looking for a real opening. Kael let him come. He had learned, after months of losing against bigger, stronger, and more experienced initiates, that sometimes the best defense was simply not being where they expected you to be.
Cedric attacked, a pattern of blows designed to force Kael into a corner and overwhelm him. Kael blocked the first two, feeling the weight behind them, then rolled under the third, using that dirty trick Favius had taught him months ago to survive.
He rose behind Cedric and landed a dry blow to his flank.
Second touch.
This time, the surprise on Cedric's face was more pronounced, mixed with indignation.
"How...?"
"You're stronger than me," Kael said, and it wasn't false modesty. It was a simple fact.
"But you're predictable."
He saw the exact moment something changed in Cedric's eyes. Wounded pride. Offended noble dignity.
And then, to the horror of several of the initiates who knew what it meant, Cedric closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, there was a faint glow in them.
Aether.
"Cedric," his instructor said sharply from the edge.
"No."
But it was too late.
Cedric attacked, and this time his speed was unnatural. Aether flowed through his muscles, amplifying strength and quickness beyond normal limits. Second layer Apprentice. Enough to make all the difference against someone without active Aether.
Kael blocked the first blow and felt the impact vibrate to his bones, nearly breaking his wrist. The second almost tore the sword from his hands.
He couldn't win this way. Not in pure strength.
So he didn't try.
Instead of blocking the third attack, which surely would have broken his arm, Kael dropped completely to the ground, Cedric's sword passing with a lethal whistle over his head. He swept Cedric's legs with a precise kick.
The older boy fell heavily, surprised, his concentration broken and his Aether dissipating in the shock of the impact. And Kael, rolling over himself with the desperation of someone fighting for survival, ended with his practice sword lightly pressing against Cedric's neck.
Third touch.
Victory.
The courtyard exploded in murmurs. Several initiates whistled. Davos shouted something that sounded like a wild celebration.
Kael got up, gasping, and offered his hand to Cedric. The boy looked at it for a long moment, his face red with shame and rage, before ignoring it and getting up by himself.
"That doesn't count," he said in a strained voice.
"You fought dirty."
"I fought smart," Kael corrected. And then, because something in him had fundamentally changed in these four months, he added with a small, dangerous smile:
"There's a difference."
"Enough," Torin cut in, and there was something in his voice that was almost approval.
"Kael wins. Clean."
He looked directly at Elyn, challenging her.
"Your son trains well, Lady Elyn."
Not 'your stepson'. Not 'the concubine's son'.
'Your son.'
Elyn didn't answer. Her expression was impassive as always, but something in her eyes suggested this had not gone as she planned.
"You may withdraw," she finally said, turning away with a sharp swish of her skirts.
Cedric followed her, his instructor behind, without looking back. The moment they left, the courtyard exploded in conversation.
"By all the gods!"
"Did you see that?"
"He used Aether and still lost."
Favius appeared next to Kael, putting a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"Well done, dwarf."
"It was nothing," Kael said, but there was a warmth expanding in his chest. Something new.
He had won. Against someone stronger. Better trained. With Aether. And he had won. Not by luck. Not by accident.
By skill.
'I liked it,' he realized with surprise. 'Winning. The feeling. I want more of this.'
It was different from the cold hunger of months ago. This was more visceral. More alive.
"Hey," Mika said, approaching with his habitually neutral expression.
"That was smart. The leg sweep. I didn't see it coming."
"Me neither," Davos admitted with a booming laugh.
"I thought you were dead when he brought out the Aether."
"Me too," Kael said honestly.
"But you weren't," Favius pointed out. "That's the difference."
Torin approached, looking at Kael with an unreadable expression.
"You fought well."
Coming from Torin, it was like receiving a gold medal from the Emperor.
"Thank you, Master."
"But," Torin continued, and of course there was a 'but,'
"you used a dirty trick at the end."
"I used what I had."
"Exactly." Torin nodded.
"That's what you do when you're outmatched. You use what you have." He paused. "Well done."
He walked away, barking orders at the other initiates to get back to work. Kael stood there, feeling that strange warmth still expanding in his chest.
He had won. And a part of him, a part he hadn't known existed, wanted more. He wanted to win again. And again. And again.
It was different from the cold desire to matter, not to be discarded, that had motivated him at the beginning. This was hunger. Pure and simple.
Hunger for victory.
"Come on," Favius said, interrupting his thoughts.
"Torin wants us to run forms before the day ends."
"Right."
As he moved to his position, Kael looked towards the mansion, where Elyn had disappeared with Cedric. He wondered what she would be saying now.
Then he decided he didn't care.
He had won. And that feeling was enough for now.
That night, Kael was in his room cleaning his practice sword, wiping off the splinters and dust, when someone knocked on the door.
"Come in."
It was Sareth, holding an envelope sealed with wax in his trembling hands.
"This arrived for Elyn this afternoon," he said, entering nervously.
"A messenger from Vaeloria. I heard the servants talking."
Kael set his sword down on the bed.
"And?"
"Rylan and Father are coming back. They'll arrive in half a month."
Silence.
Kael processed the information. Five months. Rylan had been away for five months, seeing the imperial capital, meeting the Emperor, walking through halls of power Kael would never see.
And now he was returning.
"How do you feel?" Sareth asked quietly.
"I don't know," Kael admitted.
"Five months ago, I probably would have been nervous. Worried about how I would compare."
"And now?"
Kael thought about today's fight. The feeling of victory. That new hunger he had discovered.
"Now I'm curious."
"Curious?"
"To see how different he is. How far ahead he is." Kael shrugged.
"Five months ago, the distance would have bothered me. Now it just makes me wonder... how fast can I close it?"
Sareth looked at him with a strange expression, a mix of admiration and fear.
"You've changed."
"I know."
"I'm not sure if it's good or bad."
"Me neither," Kael admitted with a small smile.
"But it's better than how I was before."
Sareth nodded slowly, then left, leaving Kael alone with his thoughts.
Half a month. Half a month until Rylan returned. Half a month to keep improving. Half a month to feed that new hunger that had awakened.
Kael returned to his sword, cleaning it with practiced, meticulous movements. Four months ago, he had started training because he didn't want to be discarded. Now he trained because he wanted to win.
It was different.
And as he lay down that night, with the familiar sound of the sea roaring against the cliffs, Kael realized something fundamental: he didn't care if Rylan came back different, stronger, more impressive.
Because he was also different now. And for the first time in his life, that difference felt like an advantage instead of a flaw.
He closed his eyes, feeling that new hunger settling in his chest like a burning ember.
Half a month.
It would be enough.
It had to be.